Bumbling
by Burnedtoasty
Summary: G1: Despite all fronts to the contrary, the Autobots are not as tight a group as some would assume.


**Disclaimer**: _I, in no way, shape, or form, own the Transformers© franchise or the characters it contains. All publicly recognizable characters are copyrighted to Hasbro, and the respective artists/writers/et cetera. No infringement intended._

**Continuity**: Generation One (G1) cartoon-verse.

**Characters**: Sunstreaker, Bumblebee, Spike Witwicky

**Warnings**: None

**Author's Note**: Criticism encouraged, technical points preferable.

--

"You're a disgrace to the color yellow."

Bumblebee's mouth drew into a startlingly uncharacteristic scowl, his hands clenching sporadically. Taking a steadying breath, he tottered about, craning his head back to stare the taller mechanism in the face. "Excuse me?" He asked, forcing his voice into a shallow imitation of his usual good humor.

"You heard." Sunstreaker lifted up a corner of his mouth in a sneer. "Not enough to stand with real Cybertronians, you pal around with _humans_. Pitiful, really." He paused, ruminating upon some distant thought or memory, before shrugging, slapping one palm against the wall to brace himself up. "Do you think they're better than us? Is that it?"

"No," Bumblebee automatically answered, without really thinking about it. "I don't think we should alienate them, right off the bat. It's not—" He broke off as Sunstreaker snorted, handsome features contorted into an expression of disgusted mirth. "What?"

"You just used one of their stupid catch phrases. 'Off the bat'. What does a _bat_ have to do with anything?"

"It's just a phrase." The minibot snapped, fed up with the arrogant mechanism. "I don't think it's really any of your business what I say or whom I choose to 'pal around with'." He stalked around the larger Autobot, making his way back to his quarters.

Sunstreaker pivoted to keep him in view, calling after, "What? Are you gonna run off to Prime to tell on me?"

"Slag off," Bumblebee snapped back, slipping into his personal quarters without a backward glance.

For a time, he waited, stationed like a jealous guardian before the automated door. But no heavy tread followed him, no more taunting words floated from beyond the flimsy barrier.

Sunstreaker was gone.

Sighing, the minibot ambled away, settling himself upon his berth.

_Not enough_.

It was true; he wasn't enough to stand with his fellows. He wasn't a large, powerful mechanism, built for battle, able to hold his own against Decepticons. Nor did he have particular gifts, such as Mirage's cloaking ability, or Bluestreak's nearly preternatural aim. Instead, he was just a little minibot – proficient in spying, yes, but not much beyond that, if you didn't count unofficial ambassador for the Autobot-human interactions.

Was it really so bad, enjoying the fleshlings' company?

He liked humans. He _understood_ humans.

Not to mention he was actually _taller_ than said fleshlings, which was always an important point in his mind.

Seeing, literally, eye to optic with them, he could see how they would react to he and his comrades. And it wasn't always positive; he had seen people run in terror from them, even though they had meant the people no harm. One woman, recently, had flung rocks at them the moment they revealed themselves, screaming obscenities and condemning them for beings from hell. Eventually, several others joined her, forcing the 'bots to retreat. Some had taken it harder than others – particularly Hound. No one wanted to be hated, just for being what they were.

But that was to be expected, he supposed. As such a short mechanism, he could see why the sheer scale of some of the Autobots would intimidate the humans. Add that to the fact that fleshlings, as a species, were easily damaged, short-lived creatures… well, it was understandable that they would be terrified. Slag, even _he_ scared some of them.

Yet, conversely, they had the same effect on the Cybertronians.

Humans were, on a smaller, much more contained scale, virtually the same as the transformers. They were clannish, prone to ostracize or accept based largely upon personal value sets, be they religious, physical, or mental states. They experienced the full gamut of emotions the Autobots were also capable of, yet had to preset program to give them these feelings. Though they claimed an afterlife – several, in fact – they possessed no spark, no physical proof thereof, only mere conjecture. And… they had such pitiably short lives it was nearly inconceivable to the transformers. Less than a century of life – a mere optic click to any sparked Cybertronian.

It was a frightening thing, to see parts of yourself reflected in primitive bodies.

Even more terrifying to realize that said primitives outnumbered you, and that they were, indeed, capable of destroying the Cybertronians.

Bumblebee forced his shoulders to relax, letting go of the ever-present tension. His heels clacked against the berth's side, a soothing, aberrant rhythm to soothe away the residual anger. It was true; he understood what Sunstreaker was going through, on some distant level, much as he might disagree. Many were threatened by humans, by their alien aspects, by their familiar ones. Sunstreaker simply lashed out at a convenient target, using Bumblebee as his scapegoat. Useless, little Bumblebee, unable to stand with his fellows, reduced to skulking about with humans.

His head flopped forward into his hands.

Was it really so wrong, to feel such a connection to another species? To want to be among them? To understand them better than his fellows?

\'_Bee_? _Hey, 'Bee. You busy_?\

Speaking of.

Sighing, the Autobot sat upright, a worn-out smile crossing his features, though his friend was in no way able to see it. \_Hey, Spike. How's the radio working_?\

_\Oh, it's great. Took me a while to figure out all the frequencies, but I'm getting it_.\ The blithely ignorant human prattled, half distracted. \_I was wondering if I could ask you a favor. I need a ride up state, for a project. Can you manage_?\

_\Sounds like a plan. Do you need me to get you_?\

_\That'd be great if you could. I'm still at school_.\ Relieved, Spike's cheerful voice crackled back. \_You're a real friend, Bumblebee_.\

The Autobot grimaced, glad the human could not witness his expression as he forced out a stilted laugh. _\I know I am_.\ It was his role, to be always optimistic and willing to help, a friend to everyone.

But still not enough to be anything more.

Nothing more than silly, bumbling Bumblebee.


End file.
